Rip Apart Our Souls, We'll Need Morphine
by elle dit oui
Summary: And I'll welcome you to the Upper East Side, home of Cruel Intentions. Enjoy your stay while it lasts. Implied C/B. Oneshot.


**Rip Apart Our Souls, We'll Need Morphine**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Gossip Girl.**

**A/N: It's a little (ahem) morbid, but I was watching Dexter when I started writing this. So don't blame me for this incredibly werid thing, blame the fact I had to watch a pyschopathic cop murder people. **

**Anyways, on the brighter side, reviews please? They make me happy and I'm in a bad mood after tonight's episode.**

* * *

It comes with a garbled voice and defeat in it's message.

"Blair, I need… I need your help. I…I.. don't know what…Poppy, she…uh, I'm so confused, B. Please…"

I hang up. I've noticed that the things I do for her go unnoticed and unthanked. I won't do anything anymore. It's time I become truly selfish.

It's time I never get hurt again.

--

My phone rings a minute after I hang up. I don't pick up and it feels good. I check my voicemail and she's left me a message.

"I'm sorry, Blair. I feel…really bad. Sorry… But, I just. I, Blair, I need you. Help me. I don't know.. what happening, um…I really want you here. Can you find me please? I don't know-"

The beep cuts her off. I don't feel so good anymore, but it's okay, I'm strong.

I'm truly selfish now.

--

She calls five more times and leaves five more messages because I don't pick up. I don't listen to the messages either. My phone rings once more and this time, I don't even let it go to voicemail.

I turn off, toss it across the room (as far as I can) and shut off the lights.

I've lost enough sleep over her.

--

She's not at school the next day. The girls are confused and disorganized because when I was queen, I never missed a day of school. Not until the Marcus fiasco and now, I promises never to be away again.

Never. Again.

The minions turn to me because they don't know what else to do. I know exactly what to do.

That night, I take the girls to Butter and I spend the whole time ignoring my phone sounding of her special ringtone.

I'm sure she would do the same for me.

--

I don't know what I feel when I stand over her bed at the Ostroff Center, holding a newspaper that shouts "BUDDING SOCIALITE OVERDOSED."

Her mother tells me that she will stay here for rehab for at least half a year, if she's lucky. She's Serena van der Woodsen, poster girl for lucky.

I look down at her still form on the bed and realize that she looks like a worn-out human, that the angel has fallen away.

Exactly what I'm thinking?

_This is what you are without me._

_--_

The girls bombard me with questions and I tell them that she did it because life is too tough for some to handle.

Queen is a hard job, but nobody knows.

I'm the only one who won't break. I plan parties with the girls, organize nights-outs and before long, the cocaine-snorting, _weak_ goddess is forgotten. Out of sight, out of mind.

The throne is mine again.

I visit her once a month and I don't know what to say. It's for her own good, the rehab? Right, because I don't benefit _at all_ from it.

Hear the sarcasm? Maybe it's my form of remorse.

Maybe.

--

He comes up to me, eyes glinting. I'm alone, the girls' gone at my orders.

"How do you like your life now?"

I blink because this is unexpected and I don't know how to answer.

"Now that you're out of it, I can honestly say, never been better."

(No one can hurt me anymore.)

"I'll never be completely gone, Waldorf, no matter how hard you try."

"Well, I'll have to keep trying and see."

He lowers his head and glances up at me. He's beautiful.

But beauty is pain.

"How's that for gratitude?"

He doesn't make sense. Does he think I would actually _thank_ him for briefly ruining my life?

"Gratitude?" I repeat harshly.

He smiles at my question and I don't like it, because I know that look. I've seen it before.

"You really think Serena's little breakdown was a mistake on her part or mine? Not a master plan? A point of mine to prove?"

My heart pounds faster. Should I hate him now? No, should I even believe him?

All I know is that Chuck Bass is a liar.

"You take narcissism to a new level. Get out of my way."

I leave him behind with an amused smirk on his face.

I really, really want to kiss it off.

Is that bad?

* * *

She doesn't believe me. I smirk. _I _wouldn't believe _me_. She's a smart girl.

I don't know if that's bad.

She should believe me though. Orchestrating Serena's disastrous downfall was easy, fun almost. The girl always had a bad side. It was only a matter of time until she had an "accident" without Blair watching her back all the time. If the bitch of Old Serena came back, so would the party girl.

It was all just part of the plan.

I can give Blair what she always should have had and I can take it away. It's amusing for a Devil to play God.

Queen's will rise and fall. The higher they rise, the lower they'll fall.

You could call it Newton, you could call it Chuck Bass.

It doesn't matter.

--

I've turned down promises of redemption, offers of salvation and accepted proposals for destruction.

And so, it starts.

--

It ends with a slurred voice and defeat in it's message.

"Chuck…I need…I'm not going to beg. I…Where am I? Can you come…and get me? I need help, Chuck-"

I hang up.

I call my limo. My butterflies flutter. But I don't need or want love.

I'll just control it.


End file.
